


Surprisingly Sarcastic

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt Saves the Day, Hurt Jaskier, Jaskier is feral, M/M, No I dont take criticism, Other, Trans Jaskier, and sarcastic, dont ask how i dont know, i adore writing him, jaskier is overdramatic, kidnapping fic, mild blood mention, nb geralt, was supposed to be sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After Geralt was far enough away not to see, Jaskier, of course, snuck out.That was unfortunately the last thing he remembered before feeling something speed through the air and connect quite solidly with the back of his skull.Or: Jaskier gets kidnapped and is overdramatic to a degree
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 274





	Surprisingly Sarcastic

Geralt would come. They would. They  _ had  _ to. Jaskier wouldn't allow himself to think on what might happen if Geralt didn't come; couldn't allow himself to think on it lest he fall within himself to certain acceptance of his death. He was loath to even ponder how he had wound up in this position in the first place, and yet his -unhinged at the best of times- mind could do only that. 

It had been a reasonable day, nothing rapid nor nothing too slow; just any other day. The contract Geralt had taken up was nothing more than a group of drowners scaring the population, not even any casualties. A right miracle conserving the absolute bollock stories they had heard in the surrounding towns. Either nothing worth a song or story, or something too dark to even  _ try _ to spin into a catchy tune. No, there were some things that not even Jaskier, wielding words like weapons as he did, could turn into something appropriate nor approachable. 

Whispers of vampires lingered wherever they seemed to turn, leaving Geralt on edge and trigger happy with their swords and tongue both. Jaskier rather thought they looked like a goddess in times like those, focused entirely on the hunt and sparing no time for the mortals that surrounded them; besides Jaskier, of course. That was the most soured part of the story, when he thought on it. 

Geralt had said,  _ demanded _ that Jaskier hold back and wait within the tiny little inn they had parked themselves in. They were completely unwilling to allow him to look for signs of the high vampires with them, obviously worried and obviously trying to pretend like they had never emoted a day in their life in order to hide it. 

Jaskier had teased about it, of course, only to receive what might've been the most scolding look he had ever gotten in his life; even compared to his  _ mother _ . "High vampires are nothing to trifle with, Jaskier." They had growled- and  _ oh,  _ no pet names. That meant Geralt was beyond serious and even further up the stoic stream. "Witchers can't even handle them. Lower class vampires are hard enough to eliminate without having to worry about a high class one sneaking in and creating their own personal blood bank." 

Jaskier, of course, was immediately fascinated. "The mighty white wolf of Rivia can't take down a vampire? I've seen you cleave ekimoras in half with naught but your own glare at times." 

The scolding glare suddenly intensified, and Jaskier mildly understood what those poor ekimoras must've felt like. " _ Jaskier _ ." Scary face, oh scary face. It shouldn't have been anywhere near as attractive as it was, but Jaskier always had a bit of a deathwish so this was nothing. "You're staying. I'm not keeping this conversation." Jaskier rolled his eyes, pouted and floundered, but nonetheless promised to stay put after Geralt left to find the nest and do gods know what in it. 

After Geralt was far enough away not to see, Jaskier, of course, snuck out. 

That was unfortunately the last thing he remembered before feeling something speed through the air and connect quite solidly with the back of his skull. Waking up was absolutely hellish, and moving was out of the question once he fully opened his eyes. "What- what?" Jaskier spoke aloud, glancing around the room and trying to fight the panic building in his chest. 

Some time had passed since he had woken up, and he had spent it the best he could in his circumstances. Jaskier was chained onto the floor- which was horribly uncomfortable and cold, mind you- and completely ignored. He could hear words outside the thick wooden door that separated him from the rest of the strange building he was in; footsteps trailing in front of it, but no one actually entering. 

It stayed like that for quite some time, until the pattern was interrupted by the rude noise of the handle jostling violently. Whoever was on the other side did not fancy Jaskier's poor concussed head in the least, which fit with why he was trapped in the first place when he thought on it. He tried not to think on it, his brain felt like it was slowly leaking from his eyes. Could your brain leak from your eyes? A good question, he'd have to ask Geralt once they came and got him–

"Oi! Human." A coarse sounding voice interrupted the quite interesting tirade his brain had gone on, and Jaskier flicked his eyes up to look over whoever that  _ hideous  _ pair of vocal chords belonged to. 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

_ Jaskier was fucked. _

The ugly voice belonged to none other than one of the high vampires Geralt had been anxiously ranting about. If Jaksier was anyone but a bard that just happened to be dating a witcher, he'd think they were a regular human, but  _ no. _ Jaskier could see those teeth very, very clearly and he did not want them anywhere near his person  _ at all _ . No thanks, no thanks. 

"Are you listening to me at all, human?" The vampire asked, to which Jaskier eloquently replied with a confused noise in the back of his throat. That just pissed the vampire off, from what he could see. Rather attention needy, weren't they? It seemed to be a trend with most of the vampires Jaskier had the unfortunate luck to come across.

He didn't bother to speak when the vampire crossed his lovely threshold, only raising a tired brow when they pulled out an awful knife. It was certainly sharp, at least it had that going for it. "Stay still lest I bleed you dry." The vampire snarled lightly, taking a flask from another who had lingered by the doorway after Jaskier's accidental and entirely concussed offense. 

"No plan on moving, thanks." He mumbled, trying not to show the considerable amount of pain he was in when the bastard flicked the knife and bluntly shoved it into his arm. Absolutely no finesse, honestly! It bled quite copiously as well, leaking trails everywhere while the vampire caught as much as possible in the container. It might've bled  _ too _ copiously, actually. Jaskier was starting to feel down right pallid, and yet the vampires paid no mind. The one with the knife merely grinned with their hideous teeth and rose to leave, letting Jaskier lie in the slowly puddling blood beneath him. 

That was that, and it stayed as a pattern for each time the vampires interrupted his daydreaming to poke at him with their stupid knife. The thing was absolutely horrid, the gems garish and not matching at all. It was offensive to Jaskier's eyes, and the blade was equally as offensive to his skin. He was sure in different circumstances Geralt would've  _ loved  _ it as a gift, considering their adoration of all things pointy or awfully clashing. Anyway- back to his point. Did he have a point? His head was hurting again. 

The bastards didn't even deign it necessary to speak to him!  _ Him! _ They simply wandered in whenever fancy struck and drained him as if he was a bloody wine barrel. Jaskier was growing quickly tired of being prodded at like a milking cow; literally  _ and _ metaphorically, thank you very much. He didn't quite know how much the vampires had bled from his poor veins, but he knew it was enough to make his head pulse and his heart beat erratically for hours afterwards. Good old anaemia, his favorite friend.

_ Not _ .

Jaskier couldn't breathe and yet he could, each breath akin to a broken rib serrating sharply into his pleura. His stay was fastened entirely too tight, and while it had offered some reprieve in the past as of his current present it only gave him undue agony. He hoped his ribs wouldn't be bruised by the time Geralt found him, or worse. Jaskier didn't have  _ 'dying after being sucked dry- and not in the good way' _ on his to do list for the week, and promised himself he'd come back and haunt the  _ shit _ out of Geralt if they didn't come and rescue him before his bloody ribs broke. 

It was scarcely an hour after that internal complaint that he heard some sort of chaos ensuing outside his room. Nothing dangerous sounding, just what seemed to be muffled cursing in… the elder tongue? Jaskier didn't know vampires learned elvish, but that might've been an ugly assumption on his part. As it was, his head was terribly fuzzy so any sort of advanced thinking was becoming more and more difficult. This must've been what Geralt felt like when they got their head cracked on that rock; Jaskier pitied the poor hunter now. 

The cursing was louder now, more familiar. If Jaskier was able to focus more on it he would recognize it; he strained his ears and neck the best he could, noticing the rasping nuances of the stranger before hope blossomed into his heaving chest. "Geralt?"

The swearing stopped immediately, before something was fidgeting with the handle towards the door. He couldn't hear any sort of breathing or footstep, but if it  _ was _ Geralt and not some especially intoxicated vampire then that wouldn't be too out of character. The cursing was also in character; Jaskier wondered idly if Geralt hadn't just been using their more adult words and was actually cursing someone. They'd been known to do it in the past. Not like he knew enough of the Elder Tongue to know anyway. 

"Jaskier-  _ Jaskier _ !" He heard a muffled whisper, near a hiss. Jaskier responded very attractively, grunting and making a gurgling noise in the back of his throat. He was certain by the time that this was over he was going to have to grovel quite a bit, with how angry Geralt was going to be once the worry wore off. Oh well, at least he wasn't dead. Hopefully. His head really  _ did  _ hurt, and Jaskier was somewhat positive his vision wasn't supposed to grey like that. 

It mattered little once Geralt managed to free his arms and legs; don't ask him how, he had genuinely no idea. Those things were  _ metal _ , what did Geralt do, eat them? Jaskier also did not know how he was managing to walk as quickly as he was, but somehow he had managed to walk out of his room and all the way out of the building itself, being led straight for a bridge that kept off the main road.

It couldn't be that easy. No.

It was that easy.

Geralt made a high noise of disbelief once they were both far enough away, still moving even though they clutched the sleeve of Jaskier's bloodied doublet as if it were frozen to their palm. Moving, walking, almost jogging; Jaskier was stumbling to keep up with them before Geralt paused to quickly pick them up from the ground. 

"What- Geralt!" Jaskier eloquently yelped, slapping at their chest and looking behind them at the quickly fading building. It was now a mere speck in the horizon, a dot interrupting the bruised purple of the sky. Jaskier wondered in the back of his mind if his ribs were the same shade. 

"You're still weak. We need to be far off this trail by the time they're up and know what happened." Geralt bluntly stated, not looking down or back as they cut through the ever deepening grass. They had that steel in their eyes, the fire that Jaskier had dedicated so many poems and songs to. It was so achingly familiar that it sent a pang through his heart- before he realized that was actually his chest hurting, and his head, and his wrists, and his neck. Jaskier's entire body felt like it was doing its best imitation of a bruised peach.

As if feeling the soreness themself, Geralt murmured under their breath to him. "After we hit the town borders I'll get us a room, try and rest for now." 

"Geralt-"

"Don't even try it. You've lost too much blood to even try traveling right now. Try and rest before we get there." The most Geralt had said to him in weeks and it was advice on how  _ not _ to die of anaemia. Jaskier couldn't even will himself to be surprised at this point. Instead, he made a sharp noise of acquisition and stubbornly flopped his head onto Geralt's chest- he hoped it hurt a little, except he actually didn't hope that at all. 

" _ Rest _ , Jaskier." Geralt hummed one last time, voice vibrating through Jaskier's skull and heart thumping witcher-slow against the hollow of his ear. Jaskier gently closed his eyes at the sound, unwittingly setting himself up for an inevitable nap. He could already feel himself start to drift off against the steady  _ in out in out in out _ of Geralt's breath; besides, who was he to argue with Geralt on how to heal?

Jaskier fell asleep in less than five minutes, and only partially woke to shift into an actual bed once they hit the sparse little town. He could've sworn he felt something warm press against his head as well, almost like a kiss. 

That would just be ridiculous though, wouldn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier later in realizes he has no idea how Geralt got into the nest, and tbh. Neither do i


End file.
